Just as well that Jackie and Jillie aren't complainers. If they were, yesterday would have been the day to complain. It just happens that on Mondays when I do the house-cleaning for hours it's late in the afternoon by the time I'm finished, leaving an inadequate amount of time for a long, leisurely walk in the woods afterward.

It's logical that after a day of physical work such a walk through the peaceful woods would be just the thing to ensure the day ends on a pleasant note. Our little dogs don't seem to notice whether we wend our way through the trails for a half-hour or an hour-and-a-half. They know all the trails, the major and minor ones quite intimately. It would be interesting to know whether they're aware when we miss some and hike along others. Do they think something's missing?

They've never communicated to us that they might know the difference. When we make our way along the trails there are places where they hesitate and wait for us to catch up and these are always conjunctions between trails. They're waiting for the signal from us whether to proceed straight ahead, turn left or turn right. Sometimes they take the initiative because most often we are predictable in the circuit we take. On occasion one or the other or both will decide not to wait for our decision and just bolt on. Sometimes they have to double back when they realize we're not headed in their chosen direction, but not often.

Yesterday was a short-circuit day. We set out for our hike down into the ravine to access the forest trails at four in the afternoon. That's late for us. I still had dinner to prepare on our return, which would be around five o'clock. And a rest between preparation and dinner itself when I would be able to read the newspapers. I had prepared and put a small beef roast in the oven and mixed the ingredients for a Yorkshire pudding, washed spinach to cook, prepared tomatoes to slice as an accompaniment, and felt grateful there was leftover plum pie for dessert.

We had a heavily overcast afternoon. So that when we heard Canada geese flying overhead, as we strolled through the woods, calling down to us to proclaim 'We're back!', we could hear them but not see them. And then, suddenly we caught a glimpse of that famed Vee formation over the forest canopy, flying just below the clouds and we felt like cheering. Yet another unmistakable signal that spring truly is here, despite the persistent cold.

Last night? The temperature dipped once again back to -2C. Brrrr!

It felt beyond pleasant, downright luxuriant, to re-acquaint our feet so intimately once again with the forest floor. Not that we went unshod, of course, but what a difference it makes to comfort to finally be able to venture out into the woods without the cleats strapped over our hiking boots. For one thing there is far more sole flexibility sans cleats.

Needless to say, over the winter months it was winter boots the cleats became an essential part of. We never bothered removing them, even once. Just left them on and wore those boots only in the ravine on the forest trails. Without those cleats we'd never have been able to get about on the frozen trails, particularly on ascents and descents.

Hilly terrain of a ravined forested area comes complete with plenty of physical challenges to balance and endurance. Without cleats the effort is highly magnified and with it the opportunity to experience a unique type of accident much increased. Not that we haven't slipped and fallen on the trails regardless. Both of us have.

Me on several occasions which left me fairly battered. So that's the kind of surprise we prefer to avoid. And having the ravine's trails restored to their summer-fall-spring presence represents a much appreciated bonus for us, the rigours of winter hiking passed, for another year.

 Other types of surprises is what we value, not danger to life and limb. Nor having to explain countless times to concerned friends why it is that my face is black and blue, my arms beyond sore, my fingers unwilling to clench into my fist, a persistent hobble breaking my confident stride. So when Jackie came across a little incident on the forest floor that mystified him as a first in his limited experience, we were quick to identify it as the kind of surprise that delights us.

We watched alongside him as what we thought was two small snakes but might have been more than two, writhing, entangling themselves, wriggling and lashing back and forth in the detritus of rotting leaves. What will no doubt eventually result will be a host of more little snakes. Awakened from their winter sleep, it's the sun that now attracts them, as they look for warmth.

They were atop the ridge over the first of the many bridges fording the ravine stream. That's the juncture, down below, representing the longest-lasting stretch of intransigent ice on one of the forest trails, but an important one for us since it leads us to most of the other trails we loop onto.

It was a sunny day, windy, and a high temperature of 10C, so pleasant enough. Whatever the weather conditions outside the forest they tend to be more emphasized within. So at this time of year it's colder in the woods than it is at street level; the wind modified in some areas, and in others not. Conversely, in the hot summer months it tends to be cooler in the ravine, understandably, with the forest canopy shielding the woods from direct sun penetration.

Quite the spring this has been, thus far. Of course several weeks ago we never thought we would see the snowpack disappear to reveal ground bare of snow and ice, and now we have. So that's a milestone. But rain interspersed with snow yesterday? That's a bit much.

In the garden, the tulips are coming up, they're such hardy and determined perennials. I had planted alliums and tulips last year to augment the old ones we've had for so long, and also quite a bevy of ranunculus bulbs. I can hardly wait to greet them, but they're on their way, I'm sure of that.

Last week we had one wonderfully mild and sunny day and the garden soil had warmed sufficiently to persuade our old perennial Bleeding Hearts to make their presence. So far, so good. About four inches of tentative thrust, so far. And then, a stall. The weather turned cold again.

This morning was heavily overcast, a replay of yesterday with its icy wind and cold temperature. But a few hours later out came the sun and the sky cleared completely leaving us with a beautiful blue dome whose crown jewel began to warm the house with its golden spring rays.

We set out with Jackie and Jillie, heading for the ravine. When we did so yesterday we were heading into light rain alternating with snow. But today it was 8C, and that biting quality of the wind wasn't anywhere near yesterday's. And for the first time since winter came howling in we wore no cleats over our boots. The sense of freedom was marked, our feet and our limbs felt released from a burden.

The trails are in pretty good shape although some of them are fairly drenched still. On one of the colls between two descents Jillie had spurted ahead as is her usual habit, while Jackie had stopped off on the left of the trail, appearing to look intently at something on the forest floor. He stood there, unmoving, his eyes riveted on something.

My husband approached close to where Jackie stood and followed his gaze. And that's when he realized something was moving in front of a decaying old log. It turned out not to be 'something', but rather 'some things', and it was immediately obvious what they were. Small garter snakes entwined. We knew we might soon come across snakes released from their winter dens as the cold and snow receded.

They would be looking for sun. These snakes we watched in action had found sun to warm them. And took the opportunity to engage in sex while they were at it. No point explaining that to Jackie, he'd just be mystified at the strange creatures. It's the first time that he's even noticed a snake. In our experience our dogs rarely seem to notice their presence, although to be sure, their appearance in the woods is rare; they're there, but shy of detection normally.

These two obviously didn't care; typical exhibitionist personalities.

We were kept from our daily hike in the forest yesterday by the all-day rain falling heavily on our landscape. And we've nothing to complain about. River levels were already high from winter snow-melt, a winter absent the usual January thaw that always relieves the snowpack of some of its height, but didn't occur this winter. Flooding was inevitable, the question only how bad would it be? Well, given the unusual amount of rainfall this spring, it's quite awful, the rivers overrunning their banks.

Which wouldn't be disastrous to so many people had they not sought to build preferentially close to rivers to enjoy their proximity and the exquisite pleasure of the view. Premium properties much sought after by water-lovers. But lots that become problematical at times like this. It makes good environmental sense to respect and acknowledge the utility of floodplains, to leave them 'undeveloped' so that can do what it best does; deal with its own excesses without human interference.

There is massive flooding now in parts of Ontario and Quebec. Montreal, Gatineau and Ottawa have called in the Army for assistance in shoring up dams, putting up sandbags to protect properties and mandatory evacuation orders have gone out to residents whose properties have been identified as vulnerable. So we've nothing, we who are protected from such inundation, to complain about if we miss a day of recreational hiking in the woods.

It's cold today, with a bitter wind, overcast and not the least bit attractive. But the heavy rains have come to a halt. And we decided in late morning to head out for a walk in the ravine, anticipating that the forest would be well inundated, and it was. Surprisingly, though, not to the extent we thought it might be; the forest has absorbed an enormous amount of moisture. And as it has there have been a few slumps on the banks overlooking the creek at the bottom of the ravine.

When we left the house it was raining lightly. All of us were dressed for rain. And it was just as well that we were also dressed snugly, given the prevailing cold and the icy wind. Once in the ravine, making our way through the forest trails, the rain was light and intermittent, mixed with snow flurries. That too is a little, although not entirely unusual, for this time of year.

We had noted several weeks ago that a lower trail that we have preferred, for years to bypass because I've always been suspicious that it would eventually collapse in a very narrow spot overlooking the creek (because it has, incrementally, over the decades) had indeed collapsed. Every day we could see in the distance the collapsed portion in a great semi-circle, growing in volume. Yesterday, under the extreme rain conditions it did so even more. And what greeted our eyes when we were out there was a criss-cross of yellow tape warning people of dangerous conditions.

Quite a way off in an opposite direction that yellow tape closed off one of the bridges, and the reason was not immediately clear; there were no nearby slumps there to threaten anyone's safety. It did leave Jackie and Jillie somewhat confused that a portion of their regular route was festooned with these yellow 'danger ahead' signals. Such signals have confronted us before in our many years of experience in the ravine with its Leda clay base vulnerable to moisture extremes, and we simply lifted the tapes and made our way through.

The rain lifted from time to time before starting up again, but didn't present an obstacle of any kind since it was light and we were prepared for it. So we decided to make our hike a lengthy circuit to more or less make up for our enforced absence of yesterday, and Jackie and Jillie agreed completely.

The puppies will just have to content themselves today with looking out the door onto the porch and the gardens as they're being drenched in relentless rain. It was expected. While we were out on our afternoon hike through the woods yesterday and happened to exult at the wonderful day it was through expressing our appreciation at the afternoon appearance of the sun, Barry gravely informed us that we better enjoy it while we could, since tomorrow would be a downer. He whipped out his cellphone and showed us the latest bulletin from Environment Canada to prove it. He likes to keep up-to-date.

It was a damper, so to speak. And today that damper has arrived with a vengeance. We have to coax Jillie to venture out to the backyard, while Jackie is pretty breezy about the rain. Soon as he re-enters the house he leaps onto the deacon's bench we have sitting in the breakfast room piled with towels. The deacon's bench is one of Jackie's primary spots that Jillie avoids. Instead, she makes a bee-line for her bed, just beside the bench, to be wiped down from the rain.

I've been busy in the kitchen. I decided to bake a plum pie, to use up the plums and the rest of the peaches imported from Chile that I bought and which are fine for cooking or baking with, not so good for eating otherwise, since they're hard and fairly tasteless. The earlier seasonal crop available at the supermarket from Chile were excellent; these not so much, but they do make a fine pie interior. I used two peaches, six plums and pre-cooked them briefly in 1/2 cup of granulated sugar mixed with two tablespoons of cornstarch and a third cup of cranberry juice. Once thickened I added two tablespoons of butter and a half-teaspoon of brandy flavouring. When it cooled I prepared pie dough, rolled it out and baked the pie, filling the house with fragrance.

Yesterday was the loveliest of days for a hike through the forest trails, and we took our time and stayed out for a prolonged period, coming across others we know, including a mother and daughter we haven't seen for at least a year, with their two little pugs. I must admit, of all dog breeds pugs are among the most aesthetically unappealing, but that's my opinion, obviously not theirs. The pugs were born about the same time as Jackie and Jillie and they get along fairly well through not thrilled to see one another.

Younger than ours but comparatively huge, Nova came along too, a muscular white German Shepherd whose demonstration of pleasure at seeing us always moves us to marvel at his discriminating intelligence. Not surprising that Nova is the companion of a former military man, someone who stands on the human scale as Nova does for canines. Rob is a formidably large man, well-proportioned, tall and imposing.

We surprised even ourselves when we looked up while descending one of the hills to discover that a number of not-too-mature trees were sporting bright red sprouts on the way to becoming foliage. This is typical of maples with their colourful spring 'flowerets', but we hadn't realized that elms too have  bright red sprouts. It's rare to see elms around here, since decades ago Dutch Elm Disease arrived and killed most of the wonderful, huge old elms in this area. These are young disease-resistant survivors, obviously better equipped by nature not to succumb to the deadly effects of the disease.

We strolled happily along the trails on either side of which on the ravined woodland heights the forest floor was steeped in pools both from meltwater and the overnight rain that had drenched the atmosphere. The amazing thing to us is the speed with which those impossibly deep snowpacks layered with ice have vanished, leaving a scant few areas still locked in ice.

As for spring prospects for say, the next two weeks, Barry told us not to hold our breath. He had it on the best authority that the first two weeks of May will be nothing to celebrate. Much cooler than usual, more rain, though we've had ample, thus far. And summer will be late coming this year too. Which isn't too dismaying, given that winter is gone finally, and we're grateful for the days that are sunny and so far the emerging vegetation informs us that nature hasn't forgotten her obligations to us.

Despite that the gardens look so bleak and unappealing in early spring, the ritual has begun of my peering intently at the newly-snow-and-ice-released soil, dark with its damp condition, looking for any signs of emerging life. I had hoped that the newest transplants from the ravine last summer, wild ginger, would reappear and begin to thrive in our garden, but it's a faint hope. I shouldn't complain, given the wild success of transplanting foamflower and Jack-in-the-Pulpits and trilliums.

The spears of tulip foliage began to emerge a week ago, green, tinged with red, and that's always exciting. Those tiny spring flowers whose name I've long forgotten from bulbs planted at some dim point in the garden's history have sent out their delicate spears, and in the front garden their emerging purple flowerheads so alike that of tiny irises are awaiting sun to fully open.

Beside the garden sheds the curly branches of the corkscrew hazel, planted about fifteen years ago, haven't yet put out their catkins, but I guess it won't be long. That poor tree has been tormented for the last three or four years by a seasonal influx of Japanese beetles, hungry for the foliage and in their vast numbers creating real green chaos.

In the ravine yesterday afternoon we saw the emerging green foliage -- minuscule as yet but unmistakable -- of honeysuckle shrubs, so things are steadily moving along. As the sheets of snow and ice recede -- and it's all picking up pace -- the soil of the forest floor is being steadily released from the icy grip of frost and before long we'll see those old familiar little triangular streaked leafs of trout lilies and eventually the shy little yellow heads of the lilies themselves.

Jackie and Jillie were all excited yesterday about coming across two of their little pals, terriers they've known all their (admittedly short) lives, the companions of a young man we've known for years, who informed us that the hip cancer of the older of the two (15 years) has returned and he doesn't want to put him through chemotherapy again. He's had the little fellow since he was only eleven years old himself, sharing the years together since then, but he said he's trying to be realistic.

Knowing nothing of all of this, the still-sprightly little guy and his companion along with Jackie and Jillie crowded around my husband for the dispensation of edibles, happy in the moment, and I suppose that's about all we can hope for and look forward to and appreciate at certain uncertain times in our lives.

They forged on and so did we, on a day whose mood seemed to match this new information, since it was cold at 5C, with a bit of a nasty wind and heavily overcast. Whereas Jackie and Jillie have been able to get out without having to wear anything against the cold, yesterday their light-weight coats were needed for comfort.

The day before, we had seen a pair of Mallards steaming along down in the meltwater-swollen creek, when we looked down from the height above. Yesterday, coming over the last of the bridges that ford the creek we looked for them again, but nowhere were they to be seen. What we did see was a small black-and-white hairy woodpecker. We'd actually seen him the day before, but he'd quickly flown off. Woodpeckers too have returned from the boreal forest to spend their time in our forest to nest.

Once again the little woodpecker was there, but instead of pecking away at the tree he'd been fastened to yesterday, he was on the bank of the creek opposite where we stood, and hammering delicately away at a hole in the soil, oblivious of our presence, and quite preoccupied.

When we eventually finished our circuit on the forest trails for the day and returned to street level out of the ravine, as we walked down the street toward our house, we could see the lumpy, furry form of one of the raccoons hurrying across the street from the ravine toward the porch to reach his afternoon snack post.

Monday's walk in the woods was sheer perfection. Tuesday made no pretensions to rival Monday, but it did manage to present us with non-complaint-worthy weather for our afternoon ramble on the forest trails with Jackie and Jillie. Cooler, windier, with an inconstant sun, but on the other hand Monday's warmth and full sun exposure managed to melt even more areas of ice to free up large portions of the forest trails which became Tuesday's discovery.

The suddenness of the change always takes us by surprise. Before we're really conscious of the great leap forward into spring we think that the transition will never take place. And since this year's winter snowpack was larger even than a normal winter season in the Ottawa Valley which is itself considerable, we knew it would take longer for the banks of snow and ice to succumb to spring. And they did.

But here we were yesterday, looking about us at the forest interior and large areas free of snow met our eyes. It seemed, in retrospect, that it would never happen. And now, in the present, it has. The forest floor has shed its deep frost holding everything within hostage, but it too will soon nudge all the plant life so long submerged and held fast by the cold, to emerge. Just not quite yet.

On the other hand, some early-awakening shrubs in the understory like Hazelnuts have already begun the renewal process; catkins were dangling yesterday preparing for the wind to unleash their stores of pollen. And newly-released logs lying on the forest floor reveal their green blanket of lush mosses, none the worse for wear over the long months of icy cold and snow coverage.

Early in our walk we came across an old friend walking two dogs beside his own; one a neighbour's he often takes out because the neighbour is too infirm, and the other his daughter's, a young poodle mix we'd never seen before, full of frantic energy, a feisty young dog that wanted desperately to play with everyone.

That the sap is now running upward into the trunks of trees is hard not to miss; some trees weep sap from old wounds. And if we look up, up high toward the sky and the forest canopy we can see that the topmost masts of old poplars are ready to burst into leaf. The maples will follow, and the willows, the beech, the ironwood and the wild apple trees and birches. The last will be the oaks and the hawthorns.

As we hiked along the trails, there were fewer and fewer episodes of sunlight making its way through gathering clouds. And soon the sky was infused with clouds dense enough to block out the sun. When we were close to the end of our circuit, light rain began to fall.

In mid-afternoon the light rain became heavier, and by evening the rain fell full throttle, continuing on through the night. And when we finally rose this morning it was to a saturated landscape. But then, as morning turned to afternoon out came the sun again. Huzzah!